In The Dark, Beside you
by SomethingIDontKnow
Summary: Tony is kidnapped in a terrible car, tied up by a group of freakishly beautiful people, and introduced to the one man that might just be able to out-narcissist even him. And then things get worse. The introduction to a Vampire AU. Currently up for adoption.


**Title: In The Dark, Beside you**

**Chapter: 1**

**Author: ****SomethingIDontknow**

**Rating: T (Violence, Character ****un****-death, a touch of language, and the usual vampire shenanigans****.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Which is such a pity.**

**Author's Note: Starting a new series! Worst idea ever, for someone like me. But, this was finished and it needed the ****er, light of proverbial day. Read and Review my pretties. As much as I'm loathe do it, I'm offering this one for adoption. I'll never get any ****further****, and this concept needs some real love. Shoot me a message if you're interested.**

It was All Hallows Eve the night Tony was kidnapped.

There was some kind of irony in that, though, from the whispers he could hear from his captors, it was more about rituals and symbolism.

He was slung over the shoulder of one of the group, a strange degree of paralyzed. He couldn't kick or hit or fight or even speak really. His first thought was that someone had found Obi's sonic paralytic. But this didn't feel the same. That had been tight and painful. This was loose, he felt limp and relaxed, despite the panic that welled just under his calm analysis.

They carried him down a few floors and took the service elevator outside the labs. Surely JARVIS had called for help by now. Surely the Avengers were on their way to save him, right now.

Except they weren't, we're they? Clint and Natasha were on a mission on the other side of the planet, Thor was home on Asgard, Bruce had stayed in the Tower, but was out on a humanitarian trip, Steve was god knew where. No one was coming. And if they were, it couldn't be soon. And so Tony hung limp over a strange man's shoulder as he was carried right out of his Tower, no muss, no fuss.

If he was honest, he was a little impressed. Mostly though, he was pissed.

They had a car. A hideous thing from nineteen ninety-something that Tony refused to identify. They were nice to him at least, and they didn't blindfold him until he was seated (propped up) comfortably between two men, both fairly tall. There were four of them, three men and a woman. All three men were dressed in black jeans and woolen sweaters, while the woman was dressed like a witch straight out of Shakespeare. And their _faces._ All of them were beautiful, fine featured and sickly pale. It was disturbing and intriguing all at the same time.

They bagged him and he broke the first rule of being kidnapped by promptly panicking. "Nnnng!" he whined softly, mentally struggling to escape the lethargy.

"Hush now." A woman's voice, the brunette in the front passenger seat.

A hand moved over his cheek, a comforting caress. "Nng bg." Tony slurred, wrenching a seizure like twitch in the fingers of his left hand, "p- please."

"It's just for a bit." Her accent was strange, somehow middle ages and south Jersey all at once. The bag tugged upward and he was blinded by a flashlight. The woman met his eyes. "But wouldn't this be better if you slept?"

* * *

Tony woke up on a bed. Not much unusual about that. Unusual was the rush of joy at being able to groan as he woke. His hands were bound behind him, feels like leather cuffs, wide and thick, not too tight but absolutely firm. They took his shoes and socks, but he'd still got his undershirt and slacks and the arc reactor is blessedly covered by the shirt. The muffled light was enough to illuminate part of the room. He could see that it was small, peeling paint and boarded windows. The sheets under him were coarse cotton; the mattress, creaky steel springs. He turned over and wriggled around, struggling to find a position that didn't hurt his arms. And then, possibly the worst part of being kidnapped: the wait.

They come for him just as he's dozing off. Tony's used to going a few days without sleep or food, but usually he's got something on his mind, something that refuses to be done with him until he's done with it. Left alone with nothing to do, Tony finds himself hungry and thirsty. The woman and one of the men from the car came into the room, both dressed exactly in the same clothes they'd worn the night before. Tony could see now how tattered the clothes were, patched and ill tailored. They helped him sit up, taking him by the upper arms with those fine fingered white hands.

"Who are you?" Tony asked softly, looking between the two, "What do you want? You know who I am. What do you expect out of this?"

"We know who you are." The woman conceded in her strange accent, "But these questions are not for us."

"Your leader then?" "Yes, our Master is the one who asked for you. He said no one else would do."

Master. Great.

"You'll take me to see him, I assume." Tony asked, testing their grip. No luck there, both were firm, but not tight, more perfect things. It was getting annoying.

"We'll wash you up first. It's not fitting for a fresh mortal to arrive before the Master so unclean."

Fresh _mortal_? What the fuck was going on?

They rose together, tugging Tony along by the arms. "Well, okay, but can we do without the cuffs?" The man gave him a hard look. "Please, I can wash myself, the reactor and all..." he trailed off, "It needs special attention." Neither captor spoke.

They walked him out of the room and down a long hall, past several closed doors. The place seemed old, reeking of faded grandeur and mothballs. The grand windows at the hall's end were boarded.

"The Master has permitted it, so long as you behave." The woman said suddenly, "He says you will be treated with the utmost respect, so long as you cooperate."

"A little tit for tat," Tony nodded, "I can work with that." Neither smiled.

Alright then. Just a few doors short of the windows, and a set of stairs leading down, they stopped. The woman went in and the man hustled Tony through the door. This was starting to feel like a time warp. It was a small, vintage bathroom, complete with a stained porcelain sink and an old timey claw-foot tub. The woman laid out a set of clothes, all black and just slightly less patched than their own. "Owen will stay with you, to make sure you behave. Wash and get dressed, he'll bring you down to the parlor."

"If you try to stall, I'll get you ready myself." The man named Owen growled.

Tony just smirked, "It speaks." Owen only jerked him around by the shoulder, working locks that Tony couldn't feel. The cuffs came away and Tony's hands fell limp at his sides. While he worked blood back into his fingers, Owen drew a bath.

Tony was not shy about about his body. He knew he looked good, and he wasn't afraid to show it off now and then. Stripping at that moment however, a devastatingly handsome and exceedingly strange man watching intently from across the room, didn't feel like it should be one of those times. But he did as he was bid. The water was tepid but deep enough to get a decent wash. Despite being watched, he did take meticulous care with the reactor. The scars were rippled and horribly ugly and still very delicate. Owen watched him redress and re-cuffed him, taking him roughly by the arm again and leading him away down the hall to the stairs.

The parlor was more of that faded majesty, high ceilings and wood panels. Right down to the damask furniture. The room was dim, lighted only by gas lamps along the wall. On a lounge, one of a cluster of seats, a black haired man was, well lounging. Somehow altogether longer than the other men, he was so absolutely _white,_ he was almost luminous in the weak yellow light. The effect was heightened by the stark white shirt under his sharp black suit, accented by a red silk tie. He had Tony on edge immediately.

"Anthony, it's good to finally meet you."

"I cant say I feel the same way." The man had that same middle ages style accent as the woman, without the Jersey inflection. And his word choice was perfectly modern. "Who are you? And what do you want?"

Owen didn't seem to appreciate the banter. He took Tony's shoulder in a crushing grip and forced the genius to his knees beside the lounge. Tony swore softly, biting back a groan. "Owen, there's no need for this violence. Anthony will understand very soon, and once he's seen the truth, he'll learn to keep his smart mouth in check." The certainty in the man's voice made Tony stifle a shiver.

"What makes you so sure?"

The man smiled and his teeth were pointed and sharp and brilliant against his pale pink lips. "Look into my eyes. Do you see any trace of a lie?" Tony didn't want to, fought it with every fiber of his being. That woman had made him sleep just by looking at him and making a suggestion. What could this man do with a look and a demand? _They were coming. He just had to stay strong. Just until they came for him._ Owen tensed his fingers around Tony's shoulder again and he felt the joint shift under the pressure. He felt nails puncture his skin. Clenching his jaw, Tony screwed his eyes shut against the pain, still only sharp and finite. _There'd been worse. There would be worse. He could take it._

And then he _squeezed_. Tony's shoulder, _the same one he tore on a mission just a few months ago,_ gave violently. The pain exploded across his consciousness, blurring the edges of the blackness to white. "Ahh!" He opened his eyes and screamed.

The man reached out and used one ice cold finger to tip Tony's face up. "My eyes, Anthony." The man's eyes were flat, blackish brown, intense and so self assured... And just like that, his body was not his own. His limbs fell loose, the pain died down from a nuclear blast to a vague heat in just a nanosecond. "That's quite enough, Owen. Leave us."

The man sat up from his lounge, moving to sit on the edge as Owen bowed and retreated to the hall. Leaning forward, he reached out and swiped up a finger full of the blood now dripping down Tony's arm, soaking through the black t-shirt. Tony followed the blood, watching the man lap up the crimson. Transfixed by the little sigh of pleasure that escaped him, by the subtle way his teeth seemed to lengthen.

A scream works it's way up Tony's throat, and it's trapped there, choking him, because his mouth isn't under his control anymore.

_A vampire._

"Correct." The man smiled.

_He was so fucked._

The next thing Tony knew, he was lying in a bed much nicer than the one he'd been left in before. Still limp and paralyzed, he was lying prone on the black silk coverlet. The light was dim here as well, those same Victorian gas lamps along the wall. "You've been chosen for a wonderful gift, Anthony." The man came in from the next room rolling up his shirt sleeves, suit jacket and tie now gone.

_They're coming. Soon, they'll be here soon._

"Perhaps, but you won't live long enough to see that." The man smiled with his sharp teeth and lay down beside Tony, on his side to better face him. "We'll begin now." He leaned over, brushing back a loose strand of Tony's hair. "You know, you taste like that whiskey you love so much. Smooth and refined. And you're all mine."

_No, this can't- _

And there's a soft kiss to his throat to the soft skin that covers his fluttering pulse. There's an instant of disbelief, suspended between that tender kiss and the brutal slice of fang into his flesh. He thinks of Steve, prays that he won't feel guilty about being too late, prays that Bruce will stay at the Tower that he once admitted felt like home. Tony prays that Natasha will understand what to do with the instructions he'd asked JARVIS to relay in case something happened. That Clint will find the bow Tony's made him and keep it, both because it's the best bow ever built and he secretly considered Tony a good friend. He prays that Thor and Jane will stay together forever and that true love really can conquer all. And he prays that Coulson will be there when he passes, because he owes the man so much, has so much he needs to say.

It's cold, and the man's hands around his arms are growing warm. He's so tired, like he's never felt before. The sleep that wants to take him is heavier than resting sleep. It's death, settling over him in a thick blanket. His heart and the arc reactor are intertwine in a way Science can't really explain, not like this. It whines down as is heart slows, light fading the way it did when Phil had died. A part of him was dying, beyond his physical body, he had failed them. And his failure crushed down on him, heavier even than the man pressing down against his chest. When his breath is barely a shallow gasp, the man pulls away with a gasp of his own. "Ambrosia." he pants, but Tony is deaf to everything but his own heart, blind as he begins to fall.

Something salty and wet splashes against his dry tongue. It tastes like copper and lead and it's somehow the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. More drops splash down, until a steady stream is filling his mouth, wetting his lips. Tony's drinking in gulps. The fluid is liquid heat, searing down his throat to warm his belly, branching out to fill his limbs with warmth. It's not life, he realizes too late, it's not fresh and vital. It's his own blood, stripped of all vitality, replaced with something ancient and black. Teeth sink into his throat again, and the warm is draining away.

Time blurs from there, this back and forth flow of blood and death. And when the sleep comes for him a final time, it is the death sleep. And Tony welcomes it, a reprieve from the searing heat and the devastating cold. _I'm sorry._ He whispers to the darkness, the man already sleeping beside him. _Everyone, I'm so, so sorry._ And he slept.

* * *

It's dark. But his eyes are closed, that's to be expected. There are scratchy hospital sheets under his arms, a thin cotton hospital gown against his body. A hospital then. Something is moving in the darkness. Someone, it's a man, theres something in the scent that says male, is pacing nearby, just past the foot of the bed. He is acutely aware of it. It is two feet, in boots, pacing across linoleum. The barest trace of a limp, just a dragging in the far, no, left, step. There is the trace of blood in the air. Already dried and caked, but not yet washed away. There is breath, long and very slow, interrupted by a hiccup now and then as if still recovering from tears. There's the smell of soap on warm skin, salt, from the suspect tears, but no cologne. There is an IV in his arm, and a sterile tang on his tongue as he tries to speak, "Steven, are you crying?" Even Tony is shocked by how wrecked he sounds.

"Tony?" And Steve is collapsing into a plastic chair beside his bed as Tony opens his eyes. Both of his hands are taking Tony by the shoulders, and oh, look at that, his shoulder is fine. He shakes Tony a little, in disbelief, before going in for an all out hug. "Oh God, Tony?" Steve's been crying for sure, his eyes are red and his face is wet. He's wearing a rumpled blue plaid shirt and dark jeans that might have passed for slacks. "They said you were dead." He says softly as he pulls away, wiping at his eyes, "Everything says so." He waves at the heart monitor beside them, shut off and silent. He sniffles. "How are you... alive?"

"Help me up, will ya?" Tony groans, "And we can work this out together, because I have no idea." That startles a little laugh out of Steve and he plays with the switches on the side of the bed until Tony's sitting up comfortably. He even moves some pillows around, helping him prop up. While Tony squirms around in his uncomfortable hospital clothes, Steve takes out his phone and sends a quick text, tucking it back in his pocket before Tony can read it.

Once he's comfortable, Steve sighs. "Do you remember anything about what happened, Tony?" he asks in a small voice and Tony can hear the guilt in it, can hear the pain in his voice. And his blood runs cold.

"Steve, you have to promise me something. Before I say anything, I need you to promise you won't feel guilty. No one could have known it was going to happen, and if SHIELD did, that's on them. I'm sure you came as soon as you could, right?" He gave Steve the I-know-how-you-are, raised eyebrow look and Steve nodded slightly, looking up him as he spoke, "See? That's all I could have asked for. Promise me, and I'll tell you everything I remember."

"Tony-"

"Nope, no promise, no epic death defying tales."

Steve huffed a breath. "I promise to try, Tony."

"Promise to try what, Cap?" They both jumped, turning to find Clint and Natasha at the door, both still in mission clothes. It was Clint who had spoken and was the first to claim a seat at the foot of the bed. His quiver was still slung over his shoulder.

"It's good to see you alive, Stark." Natasha said in her soft way, but the tiny quirk of her lips conveyed all the happiness Tony needed to see.

"I'm thinking it's pretty great being alive. Ish. Alive-ish. I was just about to explain to the Good Capitan here that-"

"Tony?" Pepper dropped her bag in the doorway and rushed to the bed, capturing Tony in a crushing hug. "Oh my god, I thought we'd lost you." she whispered against his ear, "Don't ever do that to us again."

As she finally released him to breathe, Tony grinned at her. "Are you implying it was was my idea the first time?"

Pepper clicked her tongue and smiled. "You know what I mean, you... you jerk."

There was _taptap_ at the door and the group turned to find Bruce smiling shyly at them, Thor behind his left shoulder and Rhody behind his right. They all came in at Tony's wave. "We thought we'd flown in for a funeral." Rhody said, nudging Pepper into sitting beside Tony on the bed so he could have a hug.

"Well you know I hate to disappoint, but here we are." Tony smiled at everyone gathered around his bed and sudden realized how ridiculously lucky he really was.

"You were trying to tell Cap something?" Clint prompted when Tony went silent.

"Oh, yeah." He blinked a few times and looked around the group, all watching him expectantly. How the _Hell_ was he going to get them to believe this?

"Well, I guess the simplest way to say it is, I think they were vampires. And I think I'm one now too."


End file.
